Said the far darter to the gods on high,"Not one can farther shoot or throw than I."In sport great Jove Apollo's challenge took,And quick the lots in Mars' cap Hermes shook.Luck was with Phoebus. Soon the golden bowAnd string he circles, lets the arrow go,And shoots within the gardens of the West.Said Jove, when the same range his feet had prest,"Space fails me, boy. To what point can I shoot?"Thus without shaft he won the arrow's fruit.

Chase partners were the lion and wild ass:That did in prowess, this in speed surpass:A booty of fat beasts their hunt supplied,Which into three the lion would divide."This first," said he, "as foremost, I shall takeIn right of kinghood. That my equal stakeMarks as my part. And, for the hindmost lot,'Twill cause you hurt, unless you flee, I wot."Measure your strength, nor, with a man more strong,To company or partnership belong.

Prometheus was a god, an elder god:Man, the brutes' lord, he fashion'd of the sod,'Tis said, and round his neck two wallets hung,Full of all ills that rise mankind among:One holding others' faults in front was thrown;The larger, slung behind him, held his own.Hence others' falls, methinks, men clearly see,But when one should look homeward, blind are we!